


Long Live Abigail Hobbs

by piginapoketuesday



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Hannibal is fucking miserable, I would tag more but I don't want to ruin the ending, M/M, Nightmares, throat cutting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piginapoketuesday/pseuds/piginapoketuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Abigail." Will's hands curled in tandem over his scar and a phantom throat he had found in the sheets. Her name was acid in his mouth, burning with each repetition. Her loss seemed to strangle him.</p><p>Hannibal stroked Will's dripping hair, but the sleeping young man flinched away from his touch. He drew a heavy breath, watching the scene as he had too many times before. Unable to bear Will's pain alone, he put his arm over his lover's body and wove his fingers through the hand holding back the memory of spilling out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live Abigail Hobbs

That morning, Hannibal left the knife on the counter. He wore a white shirt, unbuttoned enough to expose the soft hollow of his throat.

Will put the knife in the drawer, confusion lining his face. They exchanged 'good morning's, and Will fingered his partner's collar, catching his eyes. "I love when you dress this way." He pressed a tender kiss just beneath Hannibal's Adam's apple, and the Ripper swallowed.

Maroon eyes watched his lover as he prepared for the day, a slight hoarseness to Will's voice as he told Winston what a good boy he was. That hoarseness would fade in a few hours, but he would catch Will sighing in the mirror at the swollen redness under his eyes. This wasn't the first time they'd been through this. Will didn't know, or at least, he hoped Will didn't know, how easily Hannibal's dreams were interrupted by the desperate thrashing and marrow-deep begging that haunted the young man's sleep.

Hannibal ran his hand through tangled morning curls and kissed Will's temple. Will Graham leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a moment, and it was almost as if they weren't bloody with memories of each other. Almost as if Will felt safe in his hands. 

It was an ache neither of them could stand.

~

"Please."

It was the whimper that first woke him. He opened his eyes in the dark and reached for the body beside him.

Will was shaking, his bare back slick with sweat. "Please, don't." He moaned again. A familiar sound.

Hannibal moved closer in the bed and peered over Will's shoulder. In the dim strands of moonlight for his adjusting eyes, he could see Will's throat flexing with quiet sobs; his hands gripping the sheets.

"Please!"

Hannibal knew what came next. He slid silently out of bed and felt for the thermostat on the wall. It's blue face glowed new at his first push of the down arrow. He took the temperature down to 65. Fear was too good a source of heat to leave any in their room.

He snuck out to the kitchen just as the sounds of pain began. Breathless, ripping agony. When he returned with a bowl of cool water and a cloth, Will was clutching his stomach.

Hannibal couldn't wake him and admit what he'd seen. Admit that this was the third night this week, that he hardly slept whether Will's nightmares came or not, that it was his face and his hands Will is pleading with. In sleep, at least it was always the same cruelty. Awake, Will would find himself caught in the arms that forced him to suffer and be still.

"Abigail," Will whispered, still hopeful the teacup would come together.

The older man dipped the cloth into the bath of water and rung it out. Carefully, he folded it and placed it over Will's forehead. A droplet of water ran down his nose like a tear.

"Abigail." Will's hands curled in tandem over his scar and a phantom throat he had found in the sheets. Her name was acid in his mouth, burning with each repetition. Her loss seemed to strangle him.

Hannibal stroked Will's dripping hair, but the sleeping young man flinched away from his touch. He drew a heavy breath, watching the scene as he had too many times before. Unable to bear Will's pain alone, he put his arm over his lover's body and wove his fingers through the hand holding back the memory of spilling out.

Will cringed, still calling out brokenly for Abigail Hobbs.

In the dark, Hannibal decided there were teacups more deserving of her untimely shatter. He leaned in to Will's ear and begged, "Deny me my life."

His words had no effect on Will, who continued to shake and sob. Hannibal gripped his hand ever tighter, aware of how violent even this touch would feel in that dream, but unable to stop himself. "Will, deny me my life." The emotion leeching into his plea terrified him. How could this man, or anyone, make him offer up his sacred life as the only sincere apology for his actions? What was this guilt, when he denied guilt most strongly? What was this love, which transcended morale for this moral being quivering against him?

"Deny me my life" he said, his voice at last unstable, full of pain. "Deny me my life."

~

When he found his lover on the couch, rubbing his throat and resting his head, he couldn't hold back the secret any longer.

"Will, forgive me. I've witnessed quite a few of your nightmares of late." He hoped his voice was gentle enough.

Will looked up, and all the color drained from his face.

"You," Hannibal swallowed, glanced away, "dream about Abigail."

"Yes," Will said, resigned to the conversation now.

Hannibal flexed his fingers idly. "And about me."

"Yes." The emotion was there now, as the reality of his dream began to crack his chest open and expose his heart.

"You beg me," Hannibal deadpanned, unable to get the words out any other way.

Will got up from the couch and smoothed his shirt, his hand passing self-consciously over his stomach. "It must please you, to hear me beg in my sleep. I've rarely been more than the mongoose under the house to the snake in you."

Hannibal approached him and reached out to stroke his face. "Will."

The young man's jaw flinched, and he turned away. "Don't."

"Deny me my life." The request came out in a rush, utterly undone.

Will stopped and looked back at his partner. "We've been here before, Dr. Lecter."

The use of his professional title caught Hannibal off guard. The space between them seemed wider now. "And you never managed it. But I'm offering. My nearness pains you. How often did you writhe in Molly's arms, soak your marriage bed in sweat, and imagine Abigail's teacup shattering on the floor? Not often, I guarantee. Cognitive dissonance drives you from me."

"It must be difficult," Will said, acridly, "Loving the lamb."

Hannibal raised his head almost imperceptibly. "More difficult, still, hearing that lamb scream."

Will's eyes softened and grew wet. "Not your life," he managed.

"Will, my freedom, my life, they are tied to you. Your hands must tighten the noose around my neck."

"I can neither live with you," Will said, "Nor without you. Who will tighten my noose?"

Hannibal opened his wrist, and a short pencil knife slipped out of his sleeve and into his hand. "Perhaps Mason had one useful idea."

"Bleed into each other. Is that what you want?"

His eyes were misty. "I would prefer you leave your handsome throat untouched, and go home."

"I thought we'd agreed never to lie to one another."

Hannibal smiled softly. "Stay with me, Will."

Will met him in the center of their living room. He reached for the knife, fingers brushing fingers. "Where else would I go?"

~

Winston didn't know the taste of blood until that night, when he returned from roaming the woods to find two men curled together in their crimson bed. He licked gently at his master's open throat, hoping to wake him, but Will Graham did not stir.

The scalpel lay between them, having fallen from Will's palm. Long after Winston had stopped whimpering and curled up at the foot of their bed to sleep, Hannibal's glassy maroon eyes remained open, so even in death, he would remember his lover's face. The dark twists of hair falling over his forehead. The soft lips parted slightly in pain and peace. The stubbled chin scarred white by a dragon's wrath.

Hannibal Lecter, the muscles of his neck finally carved and washed in wine, could not turn his eyes to God in the end.

~

"Time and circumstance have returned us to this moment," Will whispered, knife poised to cut.

Hannibal's pillow was damp under his cheek. "When the teacup shatters."

~

The End


End file.
